


The Grey Warden's Rest

by Katalyna_Rose



Series: Kahlia Mahariel [14]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dragon Age AU, F/M, Fifth Blight, The Blight (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:26:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8140618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katalyna_Rose/pseuds/Katalyna_Rose
Summary: Kahlia needs to remember who she is, what she needs, and why she's still alive. All she knows anymore is the endless torment of the darkspawn, her body wracked with pain and torture. She knows she needs to do something, go somewhere, speak to someone, but she can't remember why.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Rated teen and up because of the rather horrific violence mentioned but not described in detail.

“Who are you? What’s your name?” They ask her this every day, but only now can she understand the words. The same questions, over and over, and still she has no answers. Even if she did, she doesn’t remember how to say them. The words only barely make sense when she hears them, and she has no idea how to speak. Yet.

“Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?” The one who speaks is a Chantry sister. She recognizes this, like a memory from a dream. She doesn’t remember what the Chantry is, but she can still recognize it. That’s where she is, why she isn’t afraid to be here. These women are sworn to an absent god to help her. She thinks that’s funny. What absent creator would ever care about her?

Creator… That word stirs a memory, and she waits patiently for it to surface. The Creators. Once, that was her religion. Once, she believed in a pantheon of nine. Who are they? Why was she devoted to them?

No more memories come to her. It’s always like that. She gets bits and pieces of information, of who she used to be before The Pit, but they’re gone before she can put them together into something coherent.

She doesn’t even remember her name.

“Will you speak to me?” The question makes her want to laugh. Even if she wanted to, she doesn’t know how. Her face remains unmoving.

“I need to check the wounds in your sides,” the woman says soothingly. “Will you let me?” The sister reaches forward slowly, and she allows the touch. She knows that the wounds are bad. She hears the sisters talking. It’s been six months, and she’s still fighting infection in the worst of the cuts. Most of the smaller ones are sealed. She can feel the scars on her face and arms. The burned flesh of her throat makes her wonder if she will ever speak, even if she remembers how. She needs her throat to speak, doesn’t she?

The sister guides her to lie back, and she does. Her shirt, much too large and of rough make, is lifted up. The thick bandages are removed, the tape sticking them to her skin stinging as it’s pulled up. She doesn’t fight it. The pain is nothing compared to the wounds being uncovered.

They burn, a dull ache in her bones. Fever, the sisters say. She should be dead, they whisper when they think she isn’t listening. She’s been sick for half a year, barely able to keep down the food they give her, fevered all this time. They don’t understand how she lives.

She doesn’t either. There is something important, something she has to remember, something she has to do. She remembers clinging to the memories in The Pit, desperately hanging on to them to keep some sliver of herself alive.

Briefly, an image of golden hair sifting through unscarred fingers, thicker and healthier than the ones she has now, flashes through her mind. It brings with it a feeling of profound warmth and something she can’t identify, no longer knows what the feeling is. The image is gone before she can piece it into any of her other fragmented memories.

The burn of cleansing in her wounds makes her hiss, but otherwise she doesn’t react. The sister speaks, trying to soothe her, but the words make no sense while she struggles against the pain. The sister sounds no different from the wailing and grunting of the darkspawn while pain wracks her body.

She lashes out, the memory of the abuses she has suffered too fresh to be borne. The sister steps back as she curls protectively around her wounds. When she remembers that she escaped The Pit, that the sister is trying to help, she lies flat again. She needs the wounds to heal. She needs to go… somewhere. She doesn’t remember where, but she knows it’s important.

After a few moments, the sister returns and finishes her task. She is wrapped in fresh bandages that smell like herbs. She still finds that startling. The scents are so unfamiliar after so long in The Pit.

The sister is speaking, but the words don’t matter while she waits for the pain to die down. It always dies down eventually; she just has to breathe through it.

“… looking better.” The sister’s words begin to make sense again. “I think you’re finally going to break this fever soon. The Revered Mother will be pleased.” The title tickles at her memory, but no fragments come to her. “Maybe you’ll be able to speak soon.” She doubts it.

Food is brought, and she falls upon it, ravenous. Pain makes her hungry, the fever makes her thirsty. The food is simple, she remembers enough to know that, but it is far more palatable than what she was forced to consume in The Pit. Memories of that, of choking down bugs and raw flesh, make her gag, but she is able to keep her food in her stomach. She needs it, knows she does. She can’t afford to lose it again. She needs to get better, has something to do. Can’t remember, why can’t she remember?

The sister pulls out a book and settles on a stool nearby. The sister starts to read out loud, and she wants to make it stop. The words of an absent god that she disdains are of no interest to her. She can’t remember why she dislikes this book, but she knows she does.

She doesn’t lash out, lets the sister try to help in the only way she can. The readings of this book help her remember language, after all. She doesn’t like the content, but she needs to remember how to communicate. It’s important. She has something to say to him.

To who? To who? Who does she need to speak to? She can’t remember. The image of golden hair flashes again, but she can’t make it stay, can’t force it to make sense. She doesn’t remember. She clung to this for so long in The Pit, but she can’t make it come back. She has to wait. It will come back when it’s ready to, when she’s ready for it.

 

* * *

 

“Her wounds are finally healed,” the sister said. She stayed hidden around the corner. She wanted to listen. “The fever hasn’t come back since it broke three months ago. I saw her in the gardens last night. She still isn’t sleeping well, but at least she’s moving around.”

She didn’t remember being in the gardens. She was probably in a fit when she went there. She sometimes still had them, but they were less frequent with each passing day.

“I’m glad she is doing better,” another voice answered. It was the Revered Mother, the leader of the Chantry where she had been healing for ten months.

They started talking about sermons, and she didn’t care about that so she left. She went back to the little room where she’d been living since she woke up in this place nearly a year ago. It was plain, with a small window. The only furniture was the cot she slept on and the stool where the sisters sat to keep her company. She was a little surprised that they still tried to help. Creators knew she hadn’t made it easy for them at first, thrashing and lashing out. She’d made more than one of them bleed for trying to help in those first few months.

They still kept the brothers far away. The first time she’d seen one, she’d tried to kill him. She couldn’t even remember it. All she knew was that she had seen the male and attacked in a haze of red. She knew he wasn’t like the creatures that had hurt her for so long, but she had blacked out. She felt bad about it afterwards, but had no way to apologize. She still couldn’t speak, couldn’t remember how to shape the words that she understood with ease again.

She lay down on her cot and stared at the ceiling, trying to remember. She needed to know what was so important. It tugged at her still, some urgent need to go somewhere and speak to someone, but she couldn’t piece it together.

She felt the eyes on her and turned to look. There was a little girl at her door, looking in with curious eyes. It happened sometimes that the new initiates wanted to look at her. It didn’t bother her, really. They were children, and children were curious. Even the boys didn’t bother her now that she was more herself, whoever she was.

“Kally!” an older sister admonished. “Get away from there! Go back to your studies!” That name sounded almost familiar. Was it hers? Was it _like_ hers?

Kally. Kaaaallyyyyy. She rolled the word around in her mind, trying to remember. Kahlly. Closer, but not right. Kahla. No. Kahlllllllyyyyyy. Ah. There was an AH in there, and she needed to find it. She frowned, trying to find the word, the name. It was hers, she knew, but she needed to piece it together.

She sat up with a gasp. Kahlia! That was _it!_ Her name was Kahlia! She remembered!

She lay back with a grin. Kahlia was her name. She said it over and over in her mind. Kahlia. Kahlia. Kahlia. It was a piece of who she was before The Pit. She needed to remember more so that she could remember what she needed to do.

 

* * *

 

Gold hair gleaming in the firelight. Gentle touches that caused only pleasure. He handled her with care even though she wasn’t damaged, not yet. White teeth shining in tanned skin. Dark gold lines she traced with her fingertips, just beside his left eye. Those eyes, like dark ale in sunlight, were haunting. They called to Kahlia with a strength she didn’t understand, a yearning that went far beyond mere desire. That smile, jovial and carefree and utterly perfect, made her heart race. Why? What was it about this face that made her _need_ to see it, to touch it, to be touched by it? She wanted those lips to kiss her skin, and she didn’t know why. She hated touch, hated being near anyone since The Pit. But this face made none of that matter anymore. She needed him.

Kahlia woke with a gasp, clutching her chest and trying to slow her racing heart. She was remembering more and more. She’d remembered how to read just a week before, and now she had another piece of the puzzle. That face was important to her. She couldn’t remember why, but she had more than just the hair, at last. She had a whole face, though she couldn’t remember the name that was attached to it yet.

But what were those feelings that came with the memory? They were intense, but she couldn’t identify them. She had a feeling that emotions would come back even slower than speech. She still couldn’t remember how to form words with her mouth, how to force sounds out of her throat.

She needed to move, to try to soothe her ragged nerves. She slipped out of bed and wrapped a robe around herself. The stone floor was cold on her bare feet, but she didn’t care. She hated shoes. She vaguely remembered hunting in a forest, a man beside her, and a feeling of freedom as her toes moved silently through the grass and underbrush. Bare feet made it easier to remain silent, and after so long she simply hated wrapping her feet in anything.

She went to the well in the garden and filled a cup with water. It was a relief as she drank it, the cool liquid soothing her scratchy throat. She still had a hard time realizing when she was hungry or thirsty. In The Pit, she wasn’t allowed to want or need. She was given food and drink when the darkspawn decided she needed it, and that was it.

Those memories shuddered through her and she almost choked on the water before she pushed them away. This was clean, clear water, not the tainted puddle she had been forced to drink in The Pit. The Pit was gone, a year behind her, and she would never be going back.

Her name was Kahlia, and she was free. She was elven woman staying in a Chantry in a small village in Orlais near the Frostback Mountains. There were no darkspawn here, only simple farmers and bakers and Chantry sisters.

She replayed everything she knew about herself in her mind again. Her name was Kahlia, and she was free. She was an elven woman…

That face, the one she had only just remembered, showed itself to her again. He was elven, too. She could see his pointed ears, revealed by small braids that kept his hair out of his face while he fought. His face was fierce and yet still smiling as he sank his blades into darkspawn…

He fought darkspawn? Why? Why had she been fighting darkspawn by his side? She sighed, drinking another cup of water and sitting on the edge of the well. It was frustrating to only have pieces of her memory. She knew her name, she knew she hated shoes and that the clothing the sisters gave her wasn’t what she was used to. She knew she had been free of The Pit for nearly a year. The anniversary of when she arrived at this Chantry was in two weeks. She knew she used to hunt, and that it was important that she do well. She knew she loved it. But she couldn’t remember where she grew up. She didn’t know who her people were. She didn’t know how she had ended up in The Pit. She knew that she had something urgent that she needed to do, and it had something to do with the elven man with golden hair, but she didn’t know what. She didn’t even know what she felt when she thought of him, couldn’t identify the emotions except to know that they were strong and important. She needed to remember.

 

* * *

 

Kahlia watched the sister’s lips as she read more verses of the Chant of Light. She didn’t care about what the words meant; she only wanted to remember how to shape them.

“Eyes sorrow-blinded, in darkness unbroken

There ‘pon the mountain, a voice answered my call.”

The words were difficult, long and complicated, but Kahlia tried to shape her mouth the way the sister’s moved.

“Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing,

An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown.

You have forgotten, spear-maid of Alamarr.

Within My creation, none are alone.”

The sister looked up and saw Kahlia’s mouth moving, trying to form the last few words she spoke.

“Are you trying to speak?” the woman asked excitedly. Kahlia hesitated, then nodded to her. That meant she was agreeing, right? The woman gasped excitedly. “Oh! You nodded! You understand!” Kahlia nodded again. “That’s wonderful! We were so worried that your head was gone!” Kahlia shook her head. “Have you understood all this time?” Another shake. “So you only just remembered? Or have you known for a while but not the whole time?” Kahlia just frowned. She couldn’t think of how to answer both questions. “It isn’t important,” the sister said after a moment. “Can you say anything?” Kahlia shook her head. The sister frowned. “Do you know how?” Another shake. “Then you’re trying to remember?” A nod. “Well, that’s good! At least you’re trying! You’ll get there!” Another nod. “Are you using my words to try to remember?” Nodding again. “Then should I keep reading?” Kahlia shrugged. She didn’t like the book. The Chant was of no interest to her. “Should I read something else?” She nodded, grateful. “Well, I don’t know what the Dalish read.” Dalish! That word… Kahlia knew it! She gestured wildly with her hands, trying to beg for information.

“Whoa, slow down!” the sister said, worried. Kahlia bit her lip, trying to figure out how to ask the sister to tell her about that word. She tried to form it with her mouth, hoping the woman would understand. She still didn’t know how to force sound out.

“Dalish? Is that what you’re trying to say?” A frantic nod. “What about them?” She tilted her head and made a beckoning motion. “Oh! You want me to talk about them?” Kahlia smiled and nodded. “Don’t you remember?” She shook her head. “Oh! You’ve lost your memory!” She nodded, smiling.  This was finally getting her somewhere. She couldn’t speak, but she could still communicate a little. Hopefully, whatever this woman knew of the Dalish would help her remember more.

“Well, I don’t know very much about them, but I’ll try to tell you what I can. Maybe it will help you remember.” Kahlia nodded. This was what she wanted. “They’re elves who don’t live in cities. They live in clans that wander the wilderness…”

 

* * *

 

Kahlia woke screaming from another nightmare. At first she didn’t understand why her ears hurt and her throat felt raw. Then she realized that the sound was coming from her! She was making noise! As soon as she realized it, she stopped.

The Revered Mother appeared at the door, wrapped in a robe, her hair a mess.

“What is it, child?” she said, approaching. “I’ve never heard you make any noise. Sara said you couldn’t, yet.”

Kahlia opened her mouth and tried to speak, to say something, anything. A raw croak came from her mouth, and she frowned. It was an improvement, certainly, but it wasn’t what she needed.

“It’s alright, child. You don’t need to remember all at once.” The Revered Mother was a decent sort, for a human with a Dalish woman in her Chantry. “It’ll come to you. You’re making progress every day. Try to go back to sleep, if you can.” Kahlia nodded and took a deep breath. Sleep was not likely to come easily. Dreams of The Pit were always sure to chase it away.

 

* * *

 

“Zevran.” The word was rough, scratchy, barely intelligible. But it was there, spoken, given voice.

“What?” Sara asked, her book falling from limp fingers.

“Zevran,” Kahlia tried again. It sounded a little more like speech. “Zevran!”

“Zevran?” Sara repeated. Kahlia nodded. “I don’t understand. What does that mean?”

Kahlia wet her lips and took a deep breath. “I need him.” She managed to say it! She had the name, had woken with it on her lips and had been struggling to give it voice all day. It would be time for dinner soon. She had spent an entire day struggling with that name, but she did it! The first word she managed to say, the most important one, was finally said.

“Zevran is a person? A man?” Sara asked, still struggling to understand. Kahlia nodded. “Do you know where he is?”

Where? Oh… She couldn’t quite recall. Something about a den, a king, and a drake. But that didn’t make sense. She finally shook her head.

“Okay, well, let’s see if we can figure it out together,” Sara said, instantly abandoning her book in favor of paper and a pen. “Say his name again.”

“Zevran,” she croaked. Sara wrote on her paper.

“Is this how it’s spelled?” she asked, tilting the paper towards Kahlia. She nodded. That was it. That was perfect.

“Okay, good. Is he an elf? A human? A dwarf, even?”

“Elf,” Kahlia said, her speech starting to smooth out just a bit. Sara handed her a cup of water, and she sipped, hoping it would help.

“Is he family? A friend? A lover?”

The question was a good one. “I don’t remember,” Kahlia said. The sound of her voice was foreign yet somehow so wonderful. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Oh… Well, family would be a brother or a father, maybe? So someone you would have grown up with, I think.” Kahlia shook her head. “Not family?” Another shake. “Okay, then maybe he’s a friend. Someone you would have met who isn’t related by blood. You would talk to him and spend time with him. If he’s Dalish like you then maybe you would hunt together?” No, she had hunted with someone else, a man she didn’t remember yet but who pulled at threads of sorrow.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you remember about him? Maybe start with that,” Sara said. Kahlia nodded.

“He has golden hair. I like his eyes. They look like…” Words were still something she wasn’t good at making, even if she understood them. “They look like home,” she finally said. “He can touch me and it doesn’t hurt.” She frowned. “It never hurt before, but I think he could touch me even now.”

“A lover, then, I think,” Sara said, smiling softly. “Do you love him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember what that is.”

“That’s okay. You’ll get there.”

 

* * *

 

“Do you think you’re ready to talk about what happened to you, child?” the Revered Mother asked, coming up to Kahlia where she stood in the garden by the rose bushes.

“I try not to think about it,” Kahlia told her, not looking away from the bee she was watching as it collected nectar. She’d been following it around the garden for a while now.

“But maybe it could help you heal, if you talked about it.”

“I don’t think it will, Revered Mother,” she replied. “It isn’t the sort of thing one can simply heal from.”

“Then maybe if you talk about it, it will help you remember what came before.” Kahlia sighed.

“I was… underground. In the Deep Roads,” she said haltingly. “Did you know that all darkspawn, with the obvious exception of brood mothers, are biologically male? I’d never really thought about it before.” The older woman hissed in a breath. She didn’t want to know why.

“I know that they take women they find- dwarves, mostly- and turn them into brood mothers. I don’t remember why I know that. I just do.” She couldn’t look at the woman. She just stared at that peaceful little bee. Its life was so easy. All it had to do was collect nectar to make honey. It was such a simple life. Kahlia wished her life could be simple. That bee didn’t know how lucky it was.

“I remember that they tried to do it to me, but it didn’t work. I don’t know why. I never knew why, but I can’t be made into a brood mother.” If she pretended she was a bee, maybe she could get through this. She wasn’t talking about herself. She was just saying words that didn’t mean anything. None of this happened to her. She just needed some nectar from the roses.

“When their third attempt failed, I expected them to kill me. If I wasn’t a brood mother, then what good was I to them? But they didn’t. Apparently, in addition to being biologically male, they also have a male’s needs. So they kept me alive because there were too many of them for all to be satisfied by the brood mothers. It was a large camp, bigger than any I’d ever seen. There were hundreds of darkspawn there. I’d never seen one so large, and I know I’ve seen a lot. They kept me alive to slake their lusts on. I remember there were a couple of others that came and went while I was there. They were dwarves, I think. I remember they had casteless tattoos on their faces. They were probably members of the Legion of the Dead. Or maybe exiles from Orzammar. They all died while I lingered on. They didn’t have anything to hold onto, like I did. I held on to my memories of Zevran for as long as I could to try to stay sane. It didn’t work forever.”

They were just words, just words. They couldn’t hurt her. Kahlia chanted it in her head, trying to distance herself from what she was saying. When she realized that she was shaking, she lost the ability to continue and wrapped her arms around herself. She hoped it was enough and the Revered Mother wouldn’t ask her to continue.

They were silent for a while, both just watching that little bee go from flower to flower. Kahlia eventually stopped shaking.

“Are you a Grey Warden?” the Revered Mother asked. Kahlia frowned.

“Grey Warden…” she repeated. The words felt familiar. “I think so, but I don’t remember what it means.”

“The Grey Wardens fight the darkspawn,” the Revered Mother told her. “They are warriors who dedicate themselves to protecting Thedas from the Blight.”

“Yes,” Kahlia said. “I am a Grey Warden. I remember the Joining. It was horrible… But I can’t tell you about it. It’s secret.” The words felt like they were pulled from somewhere deep within her.

“And your Zevran, this man you half remember?” the Revered Mother continued. “Is he a Grey Warden, too?”

“No,” Kahlia said, trying to feel her way through the memories. “No, he’s… a bird? Something dangerous… He tried to kill me, once. I can’t remember why.”

“A bird?” the Revered Mother echoed. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Kahlia shrugged. “Most of what I’ve remembered doesn’t make sense at first. It starts as just pieces and I have to wait for more before I can understand. When I try to remember where he is, I remember something about a den, a king, and a drake. But none of that makes sense yet. I know that it will, eventually. The first thing about Zevran that I remembered was the color of his hair and some vague sense that it was important. Now I remember what all of him looks like, what his name is, and that we slept together. He has such pretty hair, and it’s really soft. I used to play with it when we sat by the fire. That’s why I remembered it first, but at the time I didn’t know any of that. So eventually, the den, king, and drake will make sense. I just have to wait.”

The Revered Mother was silent for a while longer. “You’ve been here for fourteen months, now,” she said softly.

“Do you want me to leave?” Kahlia asked. No! Where could she go? She didn’t remember enough yet!

“No, child,” the Revered Mother said gently. Kahlia tried to hide her relief. “I am simply concerned about you. You were so very ill when we found you and your recovery has not been easy.”

“But I _am_ recovering,” Kahlia reminded her. “I remember more every day. I just need a little more time. Once I understand the den, the king, and the drake I know I will have a destination, somewhere to start looking.”

“Alright, child. I wish you luck.” And then Kahlia was left alone.

 

* * *

 

Denerim! Kahlia knew that now! The den was Denerim!

She hurried through the Chantry, looking for the library. When she found it, she searched frantically for maps. Finally, she found a map of Ferelden. When she saw Denerim on it, she held her head. It was swimming with information just beyond her grasp.

What were the king and the drake? She had to remember…

She found another map, this one of the city of Denerim. She studied it intently, reading each little marker, hoping for a clue.

There! In the southwest part of the city. Fort Drakkon. What was it?

“Ah!” Kahlia cried. “That’s the drake! Fort Drakkon! Why do I know it? Why was I there?” She paced, holding the map of Ferelden and the map of Denerim, staring at them as if they could answer her. “Who is the king? Who is the king?” she murmured. Her steps brought her around the edge of the empty library. It was far too early for the sisters to be at their studies yet.

Finally, she stopped. She threw the maps down, frustrated. She had to know! She was so close! She looked up at the wall in front of her, and her heart stopped.

The painting was of a human man with blond hair. He was attractive, with a strong jaw and kind eyes. He was dressed in gleaming silver armor. The painting had a little plaque, and Kahlia leaned in to read it. She knew this man.

_King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden, crowned 9:31 Dragon_

King Alistair… Kahlia knew that name, knew that man. In a sudden rush, she remembered.

The Fifth Blight began at Ostagar, and a traitorous teryn allowed the king to fall. Kahlia had been there, a new Warden, and Alistair had fought beside her. When the battle was done, the teryn, _Loghain_ , was set to crown himself king. She couldn’t allow that, couldn’t let a man who would let hundreds die for his ambitions be crowned king. Alistair was her friend. Alistair wanted to be her lover, but she didn’t feel that way for him. She was the reason he became king. She gathered evidence against Loghain and swayed the Landsmeet against him. She killed him for what he had done to the Wardens and the country. She told the people that Alistair would be their king, as he was the only one left with a legitimate claim. She had planned to have him marry the queen, _Anora_ , but the woman was disloyal like her father. She had allowed Kahlia and Alistair to be captured, claiming that they were kidnapping her when she had begged for their aid. Kahlia wouldn’t let her have what she wanted.

And then, on the top of Fort Drakkon, she had killed the Archdemon. With help from many allies and friends, she had destroyed the greatest evil of the age. And then, in the aftermath, the darkspawn who remained alive had taken her, dragged her into The Pit and nearly destroyed her.

Kahlia sat heavily in a chair. She was the Hero of Ferelden. She’d heard the sisters talk about her, the Warden who had given her life to end the Blight. They didn’t know the truth.

“I don’t want them to know,” Kahlia whispered to herself, frowning. If they knew, there would be more questions that she didn’t want to answer. What if they told her to go to the Wardens, to rejoin their ranks? She wouldn’t, couldn’t do that. She would spend the rest of her life avoiding darkspawn like the plague they were. She would die of the Calling in her own bed, drinking poison if the pain was too much. She would _never_ go back underground.

“Okay, now I have a place and a story. I need to figure out what happened next,” she said, and went hunting for more books.

 

* * *

 

“You should eat something, Kahlia,” Sara said, placing the tray near her elbow. Kahlia hummed distractedly. Sara hovered nearby, glancing over the many books and papers Kahlia had strewn about the table. “What are you looking for?”

“Zevran, of course,” Kahlia said, taking a distracted bite of bread. “I know enough to know where to look for clues.”

“What have you found?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

Sara frowned. Kahlia had been so eager to share before, trying anything to find her memories. She didn’t know what had changed, but it made her feel lonely. She’d been looking after their mystery woman from the very beginning. She was the one who Kahlia first communicated with, was there to hear her first word. She felt that they were friends, and now Kahlia wanted nothing to do with her. She tried not to take it personally. The woman had been through more than Sara could ever imagine.

“Well… Let me know if you need anything,” she said finally. Kahlia hummed her agreement, never looking up from her book of assassin guilds and muttering about birds.

 

* * *

 

“You’re leaving us?” the Revered Mother asked from the doorway. Kahlia looked up from folding her two extra shirts and one other pair of trousers.

“I am,” she said. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me, but I need to find the life that was stolen from me.” The Revered Mother sighed.

“I knew you would not stay forever,” she said, “but I am concerned that you are leaving too soon.” Kahlia shook her head.

“I know where to start looking,” she told her. “I know where to pick up the trail, and I can’t search from here. I have to go. This is what I’ve needed to do. I’ve had this sense of urgency all this time. I have to go to him. I can’t explain why, but I need him. I held on to this in The Pit. I held on to this while I was sick from my wounds. And now that I remember enough to know where to look, I can’t stay.”

“Take this, then,” the woman said, holding out a small coin purse. Kahlia took it.

“Thank you,” she said, touched. She had been fully prepared to steal whatever coin she needed, but this would help.

She was on her way by the time the sun had risen. Before noon, she’d stolen a horse from the next town over and was on the road to Denerim.

 

* * *

 

Kahlia was exhausted. She’d ridden hard to make it into Antiva City before dark, and she wanted only to find an inn that wouldn’t give her fleas and sleep for two days. She could pick up her search once she’d rested.

“Have you been over to The Tavern lately?” A woman’s voice floated on the breeze, a snippet of conversation finding Kahlia. “The Crows’ Guild master has taken to spending his nights there.”

“At The Tavern?” another voice responded. Kahlia corrected her course to follow the two women, clearly prostitutes, as they sashayed down the street suggestively. “But there aren’t any women hired there! I mean, I hear the bar maids are quite easy, but none of _our_ girls work there.” Her companion giggled, wiggling her fingers at a passing man who hurried away.

“Haven’t you heard, my dear? The new Guildmaster doesn’t sleep around.” _Zevran._

“What? But all the Crows are loyal customers!” Disbelief was strong in the younger woman’s voice.

“Not this one. He’s been back for a whole six months or so, and in all that time I don’t know anyone who has been to his bed. And that’s a shock in and of itself! He used to be incorrigible! Girls would complain that he kept them overtime! They never meant it, though, of course. He was _so good_ that no one minded! A couple of my girls gave him discounts before I made them see the error of their ways!”

“And yet he hasn’t slept with a single one since he’s been back?”

“Not one. No men, either, and he used to fancy them, too.”

Kahlia veered away from them. She had the information she needed. It seemed that her two days of sleep would have to wait.

 

* * *

 

It took Kahlia two hours to finally find The Tavern. Three drunkards gave her the wrong directions before she finally found it by chance. Relieved, she pushed her way into the seedy bar. It smelled of stale spirits, vomit, and piss, and she wanted to retch. She pulled her cloak a little tighter around herself, keeping her hood up.

Briefly, she fingered the gold hoop in her ear. She had forgotten that she wore it for a long time. It wasn’t until she looked at her reflection for the first time since her stay in The Pit that she realized it was still in place in the single piercing in the point of her right ear. The jeweled earring had been a gift from Zevran just before the end, after they killed Taliesen. He’d thought he was free of the Crows then, and in his gratitude he’d given her a very important keepsake. She smiled to remember how he had stumbled over his words, trying not to tell her that he loved her while still expressing his gratitude. The ever-suave Zevran had tripped over his own tongue, and she loved it.

The Tavern was crowded, for reasons Kahlia couldn’t fathom. It was a struggle to avoid bumping into people, but she still hated any touch. She made her way slowly through the room, searching for a familiar blond head.

There, finally, in a corner that was otherwise empty, given a wide berth by other patrons, sat Zevran. Kahlia’s chest hurt to see him again, her heart suddenly pounding three times faster. He was just as beautiful as she remembered, though dark circles lined his eyes and he was attempting to drown himself in cheap ale.

As Kahlia watched, a bar wench approached him, giggling and walking so that her breasts bounced. She deposited a fresh tankard before him, then attempted to seduce him. She giggled and leaned in, but he ignored her. When she tried to touch him, he slapped her hand away. Kahlia couldn’t hear what he said to the poor girl, but it sent her scampering away fast enough. She watched as he scowled into his drink.

Mustering her courage, Kahlia approached and slid into the bench across from him. When he finally put his tankard down, he scowled at her.

“How many times must I tell you people that I am not interested?” he said harshly, and didn’t see the smile his familiar voice gave her under the shadow of her hood.

“Oh, I have no intention of attempting anything,” Kahlia said, surprised her voice was steady. Zevran frowned, confusion on his face when he heard her voice.

“Then what do you want?”

She leaned forward and rested her weight on her elbows. “I want to know why the infamous Zevran, who has successfully taken over the House of Crows after being hunted by them for the better part of seven years, takes no one to bed anymore.”

He grunted, and disappeared into his cup again. She leaned back.

“Not going to tell me?” He said nothing. “Very well, then I will tell you my theory.” He grunted again. “I think that you fell in love.” He froze, unmoving, his eyes glinting dangerously. “I think that a woman you never expected stole your heart instead of your life when you failed to kill her as contracted. I think that you fought by her side for a year and shared a tent with her thinking that it was all as it had always been. You didn’t look at other partners. You didn’t need them. She was enough to slake your lusts. And when you realized that you loved her, you were shocked. You tripped over your words, and it was an entirely new experience for you.” His hands clenched around his cup. He looked like he might murder her. “And when she said she loved you, as well, you felt overwhelmed and joyful. And then you watched her die, and you cannot bear the thought of taking another to bed after what you had with her.”

Zevran pushed himself to his feet so suddenly that he knocked over the bench. Kahlia leaned back, keeping her hands on the table where he could see them.

“Who are you to make such ridiculous accusations?” he sneered. He turned to walk away, but her voice stopped him.

“You know who I am, Zevran. I can see that you recognize my voice.” He refused to turn around, but his steps were halted. “You tell yourself that you don’t, that I can’t be who you think you hear. But I am.” She pushed back her hood and tucked her dark red hair behind her ear to make sure the earring was visible. “Turn around and see me.”

He hesitated, but slowly turned to her. When he saw her, a ragged cry fell from his lips and he staggered towards her, only to stop again.

“How?” he whispered, one hand reaching out slowly. Kahlia stood. Maybe he could touch her. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt.

“I never died, Zevran,” she said. “I was gone, but I’ve come back for you.” She watched him swallow hard. Then his fingers brushed her cheek. Goosebumps sprang up along her flesh, but his touch did not pain her. She wanted more of it.

“Everyone thought…” he said, then halted, swallowing. “There was a funeral. There is a statue of you at Weisshaupt, I hear.”

“I know.”

“Where were you?” he whispered.

“In the Deep Roads, where the darkspawn took me.” The words were hard, but he deserved to know. He released a ragged breath.

“I am sorry,” he said, drawing closer. He took her face in both hands. “I should have looked, should have tried to find you, should have-“

“Zevran, stop,” Kahlia said, and touched his cheek. It didn’t make her shudder with disgust. “You had no way of knowing where I was. When I finally emerged, I was somewhere in Orlais. I have no idea where I was when I was underground. You never could have found me even if you had known to look. It’s not your fault.”

 _“Kahlia.”_ He whispered her name like a prayer, and she shivered with pleasure to hear it. Her name in his voice was the sweetest pleasure she had known in seven years, since that horrible day on top of Fort Drakkon. This was what she had held onto so desperately for so long. This man was how she kept her sanity as long as she had, how she’d brought herself out of her trauma, the reason she’d survived. He was why she had spent eight months searching, trying to remember and find enough information to find him.

“Zevran, do you still love me?” she asked, her voice small. He came even closer, wrapping her gently in his arms.

“I will always love you,” he said, his breath ghosting over her lips. “You are the only one I could ever love.” His lips brushed against hers, and she shivered. She expected to be afraid, to have awful memories take over and make her fight him, but she didn’t. She felt safe, for the first time since she’d been forced to leave her clan and her family. He was her home.

“I love you, Zevran,” she whispered against his lips, finally understanding what those words meant, her arms around him to hold him close.

“I am home.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you've been reading Vhenan, you know that my Warden and Zevran show up there. I have their whole story planned out, but I know it won't get much recognition in a story about Solas and Lavellan. So here's something I wrote about what happened to Kahlia after the Fifth Blight.
> 
> It begins in present tense because all Kahlia has is this moment, and no other. It shifts into a more normal writing style once she remembers more.
> 
> The Chant of Light verse is from the Wiki page. It's about when the Maker answers Andraste's prayers.
> 
> Very little of this is canon. Most of it is all made up. The thing about brood mothers being made from women is from Origins, though. One of the dwarves from Branka's house tells you about how her friend became a brood mother. The stuff about darkspawn being biologically male and feeling lust is all made-up, as far as I know.
> 
> This is super dark, I know. I'm probably going to add to Kahlia's story eventually. One-shots, probably. Things to help tie her in to Vhenan and Lyna's story. They won't all be this dark, I hope...
> 
> Timeline:  
> Fifteen months spent in the Chantry, recovering and looking for information.  
> Eight months spent on the road following leads to find Zevran.  
> This story takes place over a total of two years and one month.  
> Kahlia spent approximately six years in The Pit, her term for the darkspawn camp where she was kept in the Deep Roads.


End file.
